Friday, November 18, 2011

My Boy Child, My Son



You remind me of myself
When I used to hide my poems in my shelf
When I was a little younger than you
Though in number they were few

I see the same fire in your eyes
As you rainbow your myriad highs
Every time you light a joint
And twist to make your point

Together we laugh in glee
As bullets on the bypass flee
Sitting on car tops
We try to eye the cops

I laugh endlessly at your jokes
As others pass them off as only a hoax
Between talks we drink caffeine
Between walks we stop by a known lane

Together we fly gas balloons in fields
As lovers promise to be mirrors and shields
We cross ridges
And burn bridges

Like my boy child you move
As you try hard to explain a seven and a half groove
Your eyes swollen
And your usual modesty fallen

Like my moon child you write
In my old time words you glide
Thinking poetry is your mistress
On music you give your stress

One day when you are as old as I
You would learn to twist a lie
And to make love to wife and mistress
With not an ounce of lust less

When on a fresh day of Spring
Under a eucalyptus you play me your one-string
Child, you will help me dream of my son
If between years of nicotine I ever manage to have one.

2 comments:

Aruni RC said...

the last two stanzas.

kazarelth said...

My friend above is quite correct; I am quite enamoured by the last two stanzas, it's not often that you meet someone with words thus pouring out.
He was also correct on the second account of having introduced me to this.
Good read.